Family Ties
by Take Me Back To Gallifrey
Summary: Snapshots of life with the Hooper-Holmes family. Established Sherlolly. This will be a collection of drabbles, ficlets and one-shots. Mostly fluff but some angst might creep in here and there.
1. Be-headings before bed time

_**AN** - Hello there. This is my first foray into writing anything Sherlock related (and the first thing i've written in almost a year.) This will be a collection of one-shots, ficlets and drabbles centred around Sherlock, Molly and their children. So far these have all been posted on my tumblr also but I might occasionally post the odd thing that will be exclusively found here. These will mostly be fluff but the odd bit of angst might creep in here and there (because who doesn't love a bit of angst?) If you're looking for smut these will not be for you, while I frankly read far too much (amazingly brilliant) Sherlolly smut, writing it is not for me. Unfortunately I can't promise to update terribly regularly as I have college and my future career (as the most badass psychologist to ever exist) to contend with. Updates will happen when inspiration and time cooperate._

_There may be spoilers here and there so be aware of that before you continue. Also these are obviously AU (unless Sherlolly ever becomes canon) and the time line will jump back and forth a little bit :)_

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"That had better not be crime scene photos you're looking at..." Molly glanced over at her husband and son, fighting the smile that was tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"But mu-um" Dominick whined, turning mum into a two syllable word. "I have to look at them if I want to be a path- patho- pathologist like you." Molly gave up fighting her smile as her 8 year old stumbled slightly over the word.

"It's hardly surprising that the boy has an interest in crime scenes Molly. Even if we discount his parentage and our choice of professions, the fact that he was born at a crime scene was bound to leave some sort of impact on his unconscious mind." Sherlock stated in his rumbling baritone, his eyes flicking towards his wife before focusing back on the laptop screen.

"And who's fault was that?" Molly asked with a breathy giggle "the genius consulting detective who just had to have his 8 months pregnant wife there to look at a dead man."

"Well, you're my pathologist. And we did solve the case before you actually gave birth." Sherlock answered with a shrug and that lopsided smile that could always win Molly over. It was a smile and a skill their son also shared.

With a sigh and an indulgent shake of her head, Molly rose and made her way to the small kitchen of 221b, calling over her shoulder to her boys "Okay okay, but no be-headings before bedtime please."


	2. Boring babies

Dominick Hooper-Holmes was not impressed. Eight year old brown eyes lingered on the small thing wrapped in soft white blankets, currently asleep in the moses basket. With a huff, Dominick turned his attention to his father.

"You said being a big brother would be fun. It's not fun. It's boring. She's boring." He gestured towards his baby sister. "Was I this boring when I was little?"

"Yes." Sherlock stated without hesitation. He and Molly had long since decided never to lie to their children.

"Sherlock!" Molly swatted the consulting detective's shoulder with a small pink teddy bear, giggling softly. "Of course you weren't boring darling. And neither is Isabel, there just isn't very much that new babies can do."

"Well I don't like her." Dominick pouted, looking so much like his father that Molly had to bite her lip to remind herself not to laugh. "I bet a little brother wouldn't be this boring. Can't we send her back and swap her for one?"

Sherlock's snort of laughter was very quickly turned into a cough after another swat from his wife. "I don't think your mum would be very happy with that turn of events..." Sherlock answered once he'd recovered from his fit of 'coughing'. He stood up, grinning at Molly. Dominick continued to pout, even after Sherlock ruffled the little boy's hair – something that usually earned a giggle. With a resigned sigh, Sherlock took his son's hand and led him over to the baby's moses basket. No matter how much the consulting detective tried to keep on the cold mask of a high functioning sociopath it was utterly impossible for him whenever he looked at Molly or their children. His gaze shone with awe as it fell on his 3 day old daughter, her soft features so much a mirror image of Molly.

"I know she doesn't look like much now but one day your little sister is going to think you are the best thing in the world." Sherlock moved Dominick to stand in front of him, placing his large hands on his son's shoulders. "She'll be your best friend and sometimes your worst enemy..."

"Like you and Uncle Mycroft?" Dominick asked, looking up at his father.

Sherlock and Molly exchanged a quick glance.

"Well...not quite li-"

"Yes love, just like your dad and Uncle Mycroft." Molly interrupted her husband with a knowing smile.

"The point is..." Sherlock continued with as much patience as he was capable of mustering. "...babies are always boring. But brothers and sisters are not."

With that Isabel Martha Hooper-Holmes yawned and stretched. Dominick hesitantly reached out a small hand, catching an even smaller one gently and wishing with all his might that his sister would hurry up and stop being boring.


	3. A day at the morgue

Dominick stared in wide eyed wonder as Molly led him through the doors into the morgue. It was his ninth birthday and Molly had promised her little budding pathologist that he could see his first ever real dead body as a special birthday treat.

Molly stopped a few steps away from the table she'd laid Mr Jeffries out on before Sherlock had dropped Dominick off.

"Now darling, do you remember what you're not to do?" Molly asked as she knelt down to be at her son's eye level.

"I'm not to touch anything and I'm not to say anything about zombies" The little boy recited while he bounced excitedly on his toes. Molly swore she would never forgive John for letting him watch that zombie film, and she certainly wouldn't be letting him babysit again, not without supervision from Mary anyway.

"Can I see the body now mum?"

Molly thought he might explode from excitement as she stood up again and led him to the side of the table. Dominick stood up on his tip toes, eager to see. Molly giggled at the sight of him, excited to see a dead body, just like his father. The pathologist fetched the box she'd looked out earlier, it was usually used to keep the old microscopes in the lab but it would make a more than passable step for Dominick to stand on.

Dominick was soon situated on the box, no longer needing to stand on his tip toes. Molly watched him intently, not needing Sherlock's deduction skills to see every change in his young face. She saw awe, surprise, wonder and puzzlement.

"What's his name?" Dominick asked his mother, barely tearing his eyes away from the man on the table for a second.

"His name was Mr Jeffries." Molly answered. She wondered if Dominick was trying to deduce anything, his expression so much mirrored Sherlock when he was devoted to a crime scene.

"How old was he?" Dominick fired another question at Molly.

"How old do you think he was, darling?" Molly answered, wanting an answer to her own question of his deductive abilities. She watched as his eyes narrowed the tiniest amount, just as she often saw her husband's eyes doing. There was silence for almost a minute.

"40?" Dominick looked to his mother for confirmation. Molly beamed at him.

"Well done darling. Mr Jeffries would have been 41 next week."

Dominick's smile mirrored his mother's. Pathologist and son spent an enjoyable 30 minutes discussing the possible causes of Mr Jeffries death, with Dominick declaring that being a pathologist was sort of like being a consulting detective so this must be why his mother and father had gotten married.

The doors of the morgue swung open as Sherlock breezed in, 6 month old Isabel - who squealed happily at the sight of her mother and brother - in his arms. Molly asked one of the interns to see to Mr Jeffries while Sherlock handed Isabel over to her mother, placing a gentle kiss on his pathologists lips as he did so.

"Dad! I did a deduction!" Dominick announced proudly as Sherlock took his son's hand.

"That's my boy." The consulting detective smiled his lopsided smile and led his family out of the morgue.


	4. Dawn chorus

221b was enveloped in silence of the sort that only occurs in those hours when night is just being replaced by day. Molly was working the first night shift she'd taken since Isabel's birth 3 months earlier, leaving Sherlock alone with both children.

The consulting detective was stretched out on the sofa, lost in his mind palace while he tied up some loose ends from his latest case. While Dominick slept soundly upstairs - he took after Molly in that respect, rarely having a sleepless night - Isabel was in her moses basket by Sherlock's chair. After 5 minutes of gurgling and kicking her little legs, Isabel had decided that the quiet approach was getting her nowhere. The little girl sucked in a deep breath, screwed up her normally angelic face and let out a wail louder than should be possible for someone so small.

Sherlock's eyes snapped open as he retreated from his mind palace. Even his quick mind took almost 3 seconds to process the sound of his daughter crying, though once he did he was on his feet and leaning over the moses basket in a heartbeat.

"Shhh love.." Sherlock's usual low baritone was as light as could be while he carefully scooped his daughter up into his arms. "keep that up and you'll wake your brother." The detective gently patted Isabel's small back as he held her securely against his chest. When the baby's cries had quieted to soft coos and gurgles Sherlock assessed what her immediate needs were. A quick sniff of the air told him a nappy change was most definitely in order and from the way the little one was currently attempting to suckle on his shirt collar he also deduced that a feed would be necessary. Remembering a lesson he'd learned on his first night alone with Dominick, the consulting detective decided that the nappy change was the most immediate priority.

Luckily for Sherlock, Molly was as always much more organised than him and had laid the changing matt and other nappy changing essentials out on the kitchen table before she'd left for work. After some one-sided negotiation and the tickling of tiny feet as a distraction, Isabel was soon furnished with a fresh nappy.

"Are you hungry, love?" Sherlock asked, placing the lightest of kisses to the top of his daughter's head. Once the baby was settled in the crook of her father's arm, Sherlock swept around the kitchen and took a pre-made bottle out of the fridge. Isabel babbled happily to her father while he heated the bottle up. Father, daughter and bottle were soon settled in Sherlock's chair, the detective's eyes focused only on his little girl's face while she sucked on her bottle. As he frequently did with both of his children, Sherlock catalogued every small change there had been in Isabel's face. He marvelled at the mirror image of her mother that she was, even down to the scaled down version of Molly's ears that she had. There were a considerable number of people who might have died from shock had they seen the look of utter contentment that graced the so-called sociopath's face while he fed his daughter.

With the little tummy now thoroughly full, Sherlock shifted Isabel onto his lap, letting her tiny chin rest against his hand while the other hand patted her little back until she was well and truly burped. With a low chuckle, the detective stood up, moving Isabel against his chest and making his way over to the window. The curtains were open, revealing a sky that was growing steadily lighter by the minute.

"Mummy will be home soon, love." He murmured to the quietly cooing baby against his shoulder. Sherlock began to hum softly, a song from one of the many Disney films Molly loved and often sang to both Isabel and Dominick. Detective and daughter stayed by the window, Sherlock's eyes closed as he swayed slightly from side to side. So lost was he in the quiet sound of his daughter's breathing that he didn't notice the equally soft footfalls of his wife as she made her way up the stairs. Molly stopped in the doorway, watching two of the three loves of her life. The horrendous night she'd had was immediately forgotten as a smile crept over her face.


	5. Babysitting a Watson

221b Baker Street was remarkably calm for a Saturday afternoon. Sherlock and Dominick were at the kitchen table, the consulting detective showing his son skin cell samples under the microscope. Molly was sitting on the floor, Isabel in her lap and a small pile of toys in front of both Hooper-Holmes girls. Lucy Watson sat in her father's old chair, a book in her hands that she wasn't paying much attention to.

The 10 year old had been dropped off earlier that day to spend the weekend with her extended family as she often did when John and Mary were working. Usually she'd be following whatever experiment Sherlock and Dominick were in the middle of, or be downstairs helping Mrs Hudson with her latest batch of baking. But today the youngest Watson was troubled. It had started the day before, when Lucy had overheard her parents having a discussion - that's what her dad had called it, her mum had called it an argument - It hadn't been a very serious argument, it never was with her parents but that hadn't changed what Lucy had overheard. With an expression that mirrored both of her parents when they were on a mission to find something out, Lucy shifted in her chair, peering round into the kitchen.

"Uncle Sherlock..."

"Hmmm?" Sherlock answered vaguely, not looking up from the slide Dominick had just placed under the microscope for him.

"Why did my mum shoot you?"

Sherlock's head snapped up from the microscope so quickly he could have given himself whiplash. He looked to Molly, unsure of how to answer the child. Molly merely shrugged from her spot on the floor, the smallest hint of a giggle on her lips at the sight of her husband's bewildered face. Lucy waited for an answer while Dominick looked from his father's face to his mother's and back again.

"Auntie Mary shot you?" An awed grin broke across the boys face. Of course Dominick had seen the bullet scar on his father's chest but had only been told it had happened on a case Sherlock had been working on.

It took Sherlock a full 30 seconds to contemplate both John and Mary's reaction to their daughter knowing what had occurred that day in Magnussen's office. Of course he wouldn't tell her anything of Mary's past that might upset the child - he didn't much fancy another trip to hospital at the hands of Mary Watson, or her husband for that matter - but the direct circumstances leading to his shooting couldn't cause too much harm. With that decided the detective turned to the young Watson and launched into the story.

"Well, I was working on a case involving a man named Charles Augustus Magnussen..."

2 days later, approximately 45 minutes after John had collected Lucy and taken her home, Sherlock answered his mobile to hear a somewhat threatening, but also amused Mary Watson on the other end.

"SHERLOCK BLOODY HOLMES IF I WASN'T ALMOST CERTAIN IT WOULD DEVASTATE MOLLY I WOULD THROW YOU OFF BARTS ROOF MYSELF!"


	6. Baby's first crime scene

If anyone had been listening hard enough, they would have heard John Watson muttering to himself as he made his way to the crime scene Sherlock had texted him about.

"Bloody Sherlock bloody Holmes...doesn't think other people actually have jobs to go to..." Shaking his head in exasperation, John ducked under the tape that surrounded the entrance to the small basement flat and made his way inside. He stopped in his tracks at the sight before him. It wasn't the body on the floor that caused him to stop, nor his best friend who was currently painstakingly scanning the room. It was the little figure Lestrade held in his arms, clad in red raincoat and matching wellies.

"You brought Isabel to a crime scene? You know Molly will have you thoroughly murdered if she finds out, right?" John glanced at his best friend, he expression equally puzzled and amused.

"Well it was either that or I leave her at home. I think Molly would be more inclined to murder me if I'd left her alone. She is only 9 months old John, not quite capable of taking care of herself yet. I would have thought as a father yourself you would know that." Sherlock's tone was so utterly serious it left John dumbstruck. John looked to Lestrade who merely shrugged. Isabel meanwhile giggled and kicked her little legs while Lestrade held her.

Sherlock turned his attention to the body, kneeling down to scrutinise it closely.

"Well, what have you got?" Lestrade asked while passing Isabel over to John who she'd been reaching for.

"A problem." Sherlock answered as he stood up, looking perplexed. "I can't make sense of this body. I only know one person who could..."

"Molly." John stated with a more than slightly smug grin, balancing Isabel on his hip. With a resigned sigh Sherlock slipped his phone out of his pocket, quickly dialling his wife's number. He hoped she wasn't in the middle of an autopsy.

"Molly. No no, Isabel's fine...Yes Dominick is still at school...No Molly, I'm at a crime scene...I need you to come and look at a body for me...of course I didn't leave our daughter at home..."

"YOU TOOK MY BABY TO A CRIME SCENE?!" Sherlock had held the phone away from his ear before Molly could raise her voice. John and Lestrade both flinched, having been on the receiving end of a similar tone of voice from their own wives at various times. With a sigh, Sherlock patiently held the phone back to his ear.

"Molly, as bright as Isabel is, she's far too young to possibly understand where she is or what's going on..." Another sigh slipped from the detective's lips "I'll text you the address. Molly, I love you." Sherlock turned away from the other occupants of the room as he ended the call and fired off a text to Molly. While he'd long overcome his dislike of showing sentiment in the presence of his wife or children it was another thing entirely to show it in front of others.

The consulting detective pocketed his phone and stepped around the body to retrieve his daughter from John's arms.

"I'll just go and wait outside for Molly." With that Sherlock turned, belstaff swishing behind him and baby settled on his hip.

When Molly's cab pulled up some 10 minutes later she'd had time to calm down. On balance she supposed bringing Isabel to a crime scene was better than leaving her at home. It was also about as responsible as Sherlock got. Not that Molly had any fear for her daughter's life, she knew Sherlock would never let any actual harm come to either of their children. It was more the idea of a 9 month old being around crime scene's and bodies, but given her parentage it was bound to happen sooner or later.

Molly paid the cabbie and made her way across the road to where Sherlock and their daughter waited, the consulting detective holding up the police tape for her.

"I am still unbelievably cross with you. You had better make it up to me later Mr. Holmes." Molly stated, fighting the smile that she could never really keep off her face at the sight of him.

"As you wish, Mrs. Holmes." Sherlock replied playfully, deducing that he was forgiven. He bent down slightly, mindful of the baby balanced on his hip, and placed the lightest of kisses upon his wife's lips.

Once Molly had regained the ability to breath, she brushed her hand over her daughter's cheek, smiling indulgently at her little girl. Sherlock led the way then stood back with John and Lestrade as Molly got to work. The admiration for his wife was utterly undisguised while he watched her work. Isabel was more interested in attempting to detach one of the buttons from her father's coat.

Molly stood back and regarded the body with a look of sadness. She always felt bad for them, especially the younger ones and this one couldn't have been more than 20 years old.

"He was strangled, probably by a man. There was a woman here too, the bruises on his wrists look like finger marks but they're smaller than the ones on his neck. He fought though, one of his fingernails looks broken so he might have scratched one of them." Molly crossed the room to stand by Sherlock who immediately held Isabel out to her. As much as Molly loved her job Sherlock knew how much it pained her to deal with so much death and there was nothing that chased that pain away quicker than a cuddle with their children.

"I don't think there's too much you can do wrong here Lestrade." Sherlock stated, an arm slipping comfortably around Molly's shoulders. Sherlock, Molly and Isabel made their way outside, followed closely by John.

"Sherlock, what was that about? I know you'll have deduced everything about that body the second you saw him." Molly asked her husband with a quirk of an eyebrow.

Sherlock shrugged, the hint of a smile on his lips. "Molly, despite what the world might think of me, even I can't be right all the time." Of course he wasn't going to admit that he'd missed her and wanted to spend some time with her. Molly looked over her shoulder, exchanging sceptical looks with John.

"John, we'd love to have you, Mary and Lucy over for tea if you're not up to anything tonight?" Molly adjusted Isabel who was now dozing quietly against her mother's shoulder and leaned into Sherlock's side while they waited to for a cab.

"I don't think we've got anything planned. Do you want us to collect Dominick from school with Lucy?" John asked while he pulled his phone out of his pocket and sent off a quick text to Mary about their evenings plans.

"You don't mind?"

"Course not." John answered Molly with a smile.

Sherlock waved down a passing cab and helped Molly get settled without jostling a now sound asleep Isabel too much. The 4 of them were soon on their way back to Baker Street while Scotland Yard's finest swarmed around a small basement flat and it's occupant.


	7. Uncle Mycroft

**AN - **_Thank you very very much to MizJoely and nowsusieq for your lovely reviews, they are very much appreciated. And thank you also to everyone who's faved or followed, you're all lovely. This jumps backwards a little bit in my Hooper-Holmes family timeline. I haven't really done much around Dominick's babyhood yet. And Mycroft meeting his nephew for the first time was too cute not to write._

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"Be aware, brother mine that if you drop him I will dismember your body with your umbrella."

Mycroft Holmes rolled his eyes skyward while his younger brother placed the most precious of bundles into his arms. The elder of the Holmes brothers turned a contemplative eye on his nephew. Even at two weeks old Dominick Hooper-Holmes was unmistakeably the image of his father, except for the ears and perhaps the slightly softer cheekbones.

Mycroft had never been much of a fan of babies, or children in general for that matter. Not that he'd had all that much experience with them of course, other than his younger brother as a child. The British Government suppressed a shudder at this remembrance of infant Sherlock. The boy had been a ball of energy and noise, rarely sleeping and in need of constant attention. Mycroft could only hope, for his sister-in-law's sake that the child in his arms would be at least a little less of a whirlwind.

"Where is your charming wife anyway?" Mycroft asked, lifting his eyes from his nephew to his brother. While Mycroft failed to see the point of romantic entanglements himself, even he had never been able to deny that the pathologist was more than a match for his brother. The elder Holmes could even go so far as to say that he found Molly to be far more tolerable than anyone else he was acquainted with. Sherlock settled himself in his chair, opposite Mycroft. The consulting detective was perched on the edge of his seat, seemingly ready to catch his son, should Mycroft actually dare to drop the little one.

"Sleeping. Dominick has yet to get to grips with sleeping through the night, unfortunately Molly is not as much of a night owl as I am."

Mycroft - as he always did - noticed the hint of a smile that always tugged at the corners of his brother's mouth when he uttered Molly's name. "No one is as much of a night owl as you are, little brother. If I remember correctly, and I assure you that I do, when you were this age..." The eyes of the British Government fell upon the sleeping child in his arms again "...Mummy didn't get a proper night's sleep for three months. You had quite a talent for making the most ridiculous racket possible for an infant."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, settling more comfortably into his chair as he sleeping son stretched his arm, one little hand gripping Mycroft's jacket.

"Why Dominick anyway?" Mycroft questioned his younger brother, one brow quirked slightly.

Sherlock answered with a shrug of his shoulders. "Molly's choice. Something about it having been a traditional name for baby boys born on Sunday."

Mycroft couldn't help scoffing slightly. "Since when have you ever been one for anything traditional, little brother?"

"I'm not." Sherlock leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin and slightly awed gaze on his infant son. "Molly and I had an agreement. She would choose his first name and I his middle name."

"Dominick John." Mycroft again regarded his nephew. Evidently the child had a sense he was being discussed as he was now wide awake and looking at his uncle with an expression of utter concentration. The British Government began to gently bounce the little boy in his arms. Sherlock quietly bit back a laugh, the consulting detective recognising only too well the look on Dominick's face. It was the look of his child thoroughly filling his nappy.

Sherlock had to bite his lip for almost 4 seconds before he saw his brother's nose wrinkle and a look of utter disgust take over his face. "Has he just...?" Mycroft looked somewhat helplessly at Sherlock.

"Filled his nappy? Obviously." Sherlock couldn't help the smug grin that broke over his face, his child had the most excellent timing.

"Well shouldn't you do...something...about it?" Mycroft didn't often get flustered over anything but at this particular moment he was bordering on panicked. He attempted to hold the child a little away from himself which only made Sherlock laugh. Dominick began to fuss, clearly not impressed with his uncles reaction to the current situation. "Sherlock." The consulting detective did not miss the hint of a threat in his brother's tone.

"allright allright." Sherlock deftly scooped his son out of Mycroft's arms, bouncing him gently in an attempt to quiet the rather loud wailing emanating from the littlest Holmes. "Shhh Daddy's going to sort out that silly nappy isn't he?" Sherlock cooed to his son as he cradled him in the crook of his arm, using his other hand to lay the changing mat out on the floor.

Mycroft watched his brother cooing over the child and vaguely wondered what the wider world would think of the sight. Sherlock laid a still crying Dominick down on the changing mat, shooting his brother a sideways glance. "Do make yourself useful Mycroft, nappies and wipes are in the changing bag on my desk." Sherlock gestured roughly in the direction of his desk before undoing the poppers down the front of Dominick's onesie. Mycroft rolled his eyes but gave in to his brother's request, retrieving the required items and placing them next to father and son.

Not one of the three Holmes boys heard the quiet padding of footsteps coming from Sherlock and Molly's bedroom. They didn't notice the pathologist leaning against the door frame watch the scene before her. Molly had rarely seen anything as adorable as her husband and brother-in-law, both kneeling on the floor in front of her kicking and wriggling son, attempting to change his nappy.

"Are you sure that's how you're supposed to do it?"

"I am perfectly capable of changing my son's nappy, thank you Mycroft." Sherlock snapped through clenched teeth. The detective was seriously contemplating murdering whoever had invented nappies. Was there really a need for them to be so ridiculously complex?

Molly had to cover her mouth with her hand to stifle a giggle. In two weeks of trying, Sherlock still could not figure out nappy changing. Molly would admit that it did make her a tiny bit happy to know there was at least one thing her husband wasn't immediately flawless at. After letting the brothers struggle for a few minutes Molly couldn't hold her giggles in any longer.

"What are you two trying to do?" Molly asked as she stepped forward. She was met only by mutterings about nappies being a ridiculous invention. Giggling she knelt down by Dominick's changing mat, shooing her husband and brother-in-law out of the way. Dominick cooed and gurgled happily upon realising that his mother was there to save the day. "Watch and learn boys." 30 seconds later Dominick was furnished once again with a nappy, Molly tickling his tummy as she did up his onesie again and lifted him into her arms.

"I would have gotten it." Sherlock mumbled, pouting like a five year old.

"Of course you would, love. It just takes practice that's all." Molly kissed his cheek lightly, chasing away the pout.

Mycroft, feeling a little bemused and uncomfortable around such freely shown sentiment, got to his feet and cleared his throat. "Well, back to work." He grabbed his umbrella which had been leaning against John's old chair, turning back to the little family. "No need to see me out. Sherlock. Molly." He nodded to both adults as Sherlock helped Molly to her feet. Taking a step towards Molly, Mycroft reached out to take his nephews hand. "It was nice to finally meet you, Dominick." The British Government shook the tiny hand before turning on his heel and striding out of 221B Baker Street.


	8. Toby

**AN** - Hello again dears :) Just a little drabble this time (don't worry I've got something longer in the works for the weekend.) I've been too busy this week with college to write anything properly (yeah, don't study social sciences, they will melt your brain) but I hope this will tide you all over for now. Big thank you's to: MizJoely, Bagting Hangin, SammyKatz, miischall and Shipper's soul for your very kind words, they are as always much appreciated. xx

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"Obaay!"

10 month old Dominick screeched as the tabby cat streaked past him, deftly avoiding the toddler's grasping hands.

"Obaay obaay!"

Dominick giggled, following after the cat on unsteady little legs that were still new to walking. This had become a familiar sight around Baker Street since Dominick had gotten old enough to acknowledge Toby's existence. Where the cat went, the child was soon to follow.

"Ooooooobaaaaaay!"

Toby made for his favourite hiding space, a spot in the very farthest corner underneath Molly and Sherlock's bed. It took Dominick only 10 minutes to work out this was where his feline friend was hiding. Dropping to his hands and knees, the toddler crawled towards his parents empty bed, peering into the darkness underneath it.

"Obaay!"

The toddler giggled, having finally found his friend. Toby, admitting defeat to his worthy adversary did not move from his spot as he otherwise would have.

"Dominick? Where are you hiding now?"

It was the silence that had Molly looking everywhere in the flat for her son. It was rarely this quiet when Dominick was running around. Checking hers and Sherlock's bedroom last, Molly knelt down to look under the bed. Seeing child and cat both curled up asleep, Molly slipped her phone out of her pocket and snapped a picture which she sent to Sherlock with a text that read

_Our boys. Mollsxx_


	9. What's in a Name?

**AN** - Hello again dears. I hope you're all having a lovely weekend. I'd say this is more of a fic-let than a drabble, it's just a sweet little moment that I had to write. Much love to you all :)

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"Samantha?"

Molly's nose wrinkled.

"Emily?"

"Emily Hooper-Holmes...okay, put it on the maybe list." Molly replied after a little thought.

Molly sat on the sofa, Sherlock stretched out with his head in her lap, his cheek occasionally brushing her protruding belly.

"Helen?" Sherlock asked, flipping to another random page of the baby names book he clutched in his hands.

"Ummm..."

Sherlock sighed. Conversations of a similar nature had happened regularly in recent months.

"Molly, this short-list of names is going to be extremely short if we don't make some decisions soon. So far we only have Emily and Lydia." Sherlock flipped to another page.

"I know but...well, I just don't think any of the others we've thought of will suit her." Molly shrugged with a smile, drawing patterns on her ever expanding baby bump with her fingertips.

"Well, you're the one who decided to go back on our deal, love. I could have decided on her name weeks ago." Sherlock said with a smug smile.

"You didn't really think I was going to stick to that deal, did you?"

"And why not? You agreed, you named Dominick so I could name our daughter."

Molly's bottom lip began to quiver, tears threatening to spring to her eyes. "I thought you liked Dominick's name?" She asked in a small voice.

Sherlock immediately felt terrible, as he always did when Molly was in any way upset. "Of course I do, love. Forgive me." The consulting detective laid the baby names book down on his chest for a moment, taking his wife's hand an pressing a kiss to her knuckles. The occupant of Molly's baby bump shifted. Sherlock wasn't sure if it was an elbow or a foot, but something protruded underneath Molly's skin for a moment before disappearing again.

"Well, someone's awake." Molly giggled, her mood having improved again.

Sherlock sat up, turning to place a kiss on Molly's belly, where the little foot or elbow had struck out. "Hello sweetheart. And what would you like your name to be?" He pressed his ear against Molly's bump and waited. Eventually he looked at Molly with a grin. "It would seem our daughter is as undecided as we are."

Molly giggled and rolled her eyes. "You'd better read out some more names then."

Sherlock settled himself in Molly's lap again, baby names book held up in front of his face once more. "Charlotte?"

"Only if we can shorten it to Charlie."

Sherlock snorted. "Absolutely not. Grace?"

"Awww little Gracie!" Molly giggled. "Add it to the maybe list."

"Arabella?"

"Arabella Hooper-Holmes? Really? With a middle name it'll take her half an hour to write her own name."

Sherlock looked up at Molly. "Middle name?"

Molly shrugged. "I was thinking Martha."

"Martha?"

A sigh slipped from Molly's lips. "Mrs. Hudson's name."

"Oh. Well I suppose that would be acceptable."

Molly rolled her eyes again, ruffling her husbands unruly curls. Sherlock flipped a through a few more pages of the book.

"Katherine?"

Molly considered for a moment. "Katie?"

Sherlock sighed. "Fine. Josephine?"

"Maybe."

"Isabel?"

The baby kicked.

Molly giggled, looking over her belly at Sherlock. "Say that one again."

Sherlock sat up, resting one hand against Molly's bump. "Isabel."

Another kick.

"I don't think she's undecided any more." Molly laughed, affectionately patting the swell of her belly.

"It would seem so. Isabel Martha Hooper-Holmes." Sherlock tested out his daughter's new name, pronouncing each syllable reverentially.

"Now that's settled, Isabel and I are hungry." Molly awkwardly eased herself off the sofa and made for the kitchen, stopping just before she pulled the fridge open to look at Sherlock. "That foot you got from the morgue yesterday better not be in here."


	10. 2:13 am

**AN** - Hello again dears! This is just a little something that happened while I was supposed to be doing homework tonight. Thank you so so much to everyone who's read/reviewed/favourited and followed this so far, you really are all so lovely :)

* * *

The blissful silence of Baker Street was shattered by a loud wailing noise. Molly's eyes snapped open and she turned in Sherlock's arms.

"Sherlock..." Molly whispered. "Sherlock...Sherlock!" The whisper quickly turned to a hiss.

"Mmphf." Was the sleepy reply from the consulting detective. Molly rolled her eyes in the darkness as the wailing from the cradle at the foot of the bed intensified.

"The baby's awake, Sherlock."

"Probably hungry." Sherlock replied while fighting to stay asleep.

Molly sighed as she untangled herself from Sherlock's arms and the bedsheets. "I thought parenting was supposed to be 50/50?"

"It would be, if I had the anatomical equipment necessary to breastfeed our son." The consulting detective had given up on remaining asleep and was now sitting up, watching Molly with sleepy eyes.

"There are bottles ready in the fridge you know." Molly glanced at her husband while she scooped her screeching child into her arms.

"You know he only takes a bottle if you aren't available. For a six week old he is remarkably stubborn."

"Wonder where he gets that from?" Molly arched a pretty brow at Sherlock, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. The pathologist returned to her side of the bed, a still fussing Dominick cradled in her arms.

Sherlock twisted around to switch on the small lap next to his side of the bed. Turning back, he glanced at the alarm clock next to Molly. 2;13 am. The consulting detective watched on in awed silence as Molly fed their child, the contented look on Molly's face always interested him. When the baby had been fed, winded and provided with a fresh nappy by his father - who was reluctant to retreat from bed to do so - he was still no more settled than he had been when he'd woken his parents.

"Perhaps he's bored." Sherlock called over his shoulder to Molly. The detective as pacing back and forth between bedroom and living room, his tiny son held securely against his chest.

"He's only six weeks old. Boredom shouldn't be a problem for a while yet, surely?" Molly asked as she made her way past her boys and into the kitchen, flipping the light switch on as she passed.

"Maybe not for an average child, but any child of ours is hardly going to be average."

"Modest as ever, Mr. Holmes." Molly giggled as she filled the kettle and switched it on. If tonight was to be a sleepless night they were going to need tea, and lots of it.

Sherlock sauntered into the kitchen, taking a seat at the table, Dominick cradled in his arms. While the baby had now stopped crying he was most definitely wide awake. "Maybe we should phone John. He and Mary have been through all this with Lucy, no doubt."

"Sherlock, love, it's 2;30 in the morning and they have a toddler. I don't think they'll thank you if you phone them right now." Molly smiled softly and placed a mug of tea on the table in front of him. "Although...remember when we told them I was pregnant and they tried telling us what helped them cope during Lucy's first couple of months...and you told them we didn't need any help because babies couldn't possibly be that difficult to deal with?"

Sherlock only sighed in answer. Molly resisted the urge to look smug.

"Well, Mary said her and John would take Lucy out in her pram when she wouldn't sleep. Might be worth a try." Molly's fingertips brushed over the barely there curls on her son's head.

Sherlock nodded. "Motion is said to be an effective way to lull a child to sleep."

20 minutes later and the Hooper-Holmes family were wrapped up warm and ready to go. Dominick was comfortable in his pram, cooing to himself and kicking his tiny legs. While it wasn't a particularly cold night, there was a definite bite to the air, the sort that leaves a light frost behind in the morning.

Molly pushed the pram, Sherlock at her side with one hand resting on the small of her back. The detective allowed himself a moment to revel in his fondness for the city at night. The way everything seemed to change with fading of light into dark, even the sounds of the city became more subdued.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Molly smiled, gazing up at her husband for a moment. She was used to seeing him so lost in thought while he was in his mind palace.

Sherlock returned his wife's smile. "I was just thinking how quiet the city is at night. People don't take the time to appreciate that enough."

"Ah..." Molly laughed quietly. "London, Sherlock Holmes' true love."

"How wrong you are, Mrs. Holmes." Sherlock flashed his wife one of the lopsided smiles he reserved only for her.

"Charmer." Molly responded with a giggle and roll of her eyes.

They walked on in comfortable silence for a few minutes until Molly noticed that Dominick's cooing and gurgling had stopped. She leaned over, peering into the pram.

"Sherlock, look." She whispered, a look of utter adoration on her face.

Sherlock followed his wife's gaze to see his son, fast asleep with his thumb in his mouth.

"Once more down the street and back? Just to be sure?" Sherlock asked quietly.

"Okay." Molly nodded.

"My turn to push." Sherlock stated, taking charge of the pram. Molly looped her arm through his and they walked on, back to Baker Street, and back to bed.


	11. Our Little Virtuoso

**AN** - Hello again dears. I thought it was about time I explored Isabel's post baby-hood, so here have some 4/5 year old Isabel cuteness :)

* * *

Isabel Hooper-Holmes was four years and three months old when she asked her father if she could learn to play the violin. Though the youngest of the Hooper-Holmes children had always shown an interest in music - even at six months old Isabel could often be seen babbling and clapping her small hands in time to any music within her earshot - Sherlock was reluctant to agree to his daughter's request.

"I'm not sure, petal. Music lessons are a big responsibility for such a little flower." Sherlock tapped the button nose that was so much like Molly's. The consulting detective remembered having a similar conversation with his daughter a few months earlier when she'd wanted to take ballet lessons. She'd lasted 3 weeks before growing bored of the idea.

"I know daddy." Isabel looked up at her father from her place in his lap, her big eyes - shaped like her mother's but with Sherlock's vivid colour - pleading with him.

The hint of a smile flitted across Sherlock's face. "How about we wait until the summer, then If you'd still like to Mummy and I will look into getting you some lessons. How does that sound?"

The little girl considered her father's offer for a moment, cupid's bow lips pressed into a thin line, a mirror image of Sherlock. "Okay daddy. Thank you." Isabel stretched up, clumsily throwing her little arms around her father's neck.

While Sherlock was still generally indifferent to human contact, that did not apply when it came to Molly or their children. He wrapped his arms around his little girl, hugging her tightly to his chest for a moment or two. "You're very welcome petal. Now, why don't you go and read one of your books until Mummy comes home?"

"Will you help me wiff the big words daddy?" Isabel lisped, having lost one of her front baby teeth the day before.

"Only the ones you absolutely can't manage yourself."

"Okay daddy." With a steadying hand from Sherlock, Isabel hopped down from her father's lap and ran noisily upstairs to her small bed room. It was more of a box room really but Molly and Sherlock were sure it would be another year or two before they'd need to think about finding a bigger flat, or even a house, Sherlock was not keen on either possibility but had resigned himself to the inevitable.

"We don't run upstairs Isabel..." Sherlock called. "Or down them."

The pattering of little feet slowed, Isabel returning to the living room.

"Sorry daddy, I forgoted."

"You forgot..." Sherlock emphasised the word.

"That's what I said daddy." Isabel rolled her eyes and wandered over to John's chair. Once she was settled with her book, Sherlock picked up his violin and stood by the window. The song he played was the one he'd composed on Isabel's first day of life. It was music filled with light and life.

On the pavement below Molly stopped on hearing the familiar notes. She glanced up towards the open window, blowing a kiss to her watching husband. Dominick rolled his eyes, making fake vomiting sounds before he disappeared upstairs, his mother following a few steps behind him.

* * *

It was the first week of the summer holidays and Isabel was pouting.

"I'm sorry darling, maybe Dominick well let you go with him next time?" Molly swayed slightly on the spot, trying to soothe the sniffling child in her arms.

Isabel hid her face in Molly's hair and sniffled loudly. "But I wanted to play football wiff him Mummy." The youngest Hooper-Holmes stuck her thumb in her mouth, a sure sign that she was feeling hard done by.

"I know, darling." Molly rubbed her daughters back. Under normal circumstances Molly wouldn't have babied Isabel so much but the utterly pathetic look on her little face when Dominick had raced downstairs to meet his friends had been more than Molly could stand.

Sherlock's heavy footsteps on the stairs drew Molly's attention away from her daughter for a moment. The pathologist grinned when she noted the small violin case in his hand. "Isabel, I think daddy has something for you."

Isabel lifted her head out from her mother's hair, curiosity outweighing misery. "What's that?" She asked, little hand pointing to the violin case.

"Why don't we open it and find out?" Sherlock asked as Molly handed Isabel off to him. He settled in his chair with Isabel in his lap and popped open the two catches on the case. Molly curled up in John's chair, watching father and daughter open the violin case together.

"It looks like your violin daddy!" Isabel giggled, bad mood now completely forgotten.

Sherlock smiled down at his daughter. "It is mine. This is the violin I learned to play when I was your age. I thought you might like to borrow it for your lessons." Sherlock lifted the little violin and it's bow out of the case while Isabel hopped down from his lap. By the time her violin tutor arrived for Isabel's first lesson that afternoon the child had already mastered how to hold both violin and bow correctly.

* * *

By the fourth week of her twice weekly violin lessons, Isabel had already progressed far quicker than even her parents had imagined. Molly spent many a breakfast time watching father and daughter playing together, Sherlock adding the occasional complicated flourish that Isabel tried to copy. Unlike the ballet lessons, Isabel's interest level seemed to only increase with each passing lesson. Even the frightening prospect of her first day at school had not been enough to dampen the little girls spirits when she had her bow in her hands. That was until the dreaded day actually came.

"Daddy?" Isabel asked as Molly brushed her hair into two little bunches on either side of her head. "Can't I take my violin with me?"

"Maybe next week, petal, when you've had time to settle in." Sherlock answered, watching the eyeballs currently revolving in the microwave.

For the third time that morning, big fat tears began to roll down the little girl's cheeks. "I..don't..want..to..go..daddy" She chocked out between exaggerated sobs. Isabel was not overjoyed at the prospect of going to school.

Sherlock glanced at Molly for help but his wife could only smile sadly and kiss the top of her daughter's head. Sherlock's own school years had not been a pleasant experience for him and both parents were determined to make sure their children did not suffer the same fate. Dominick had taken to school like a duck to water.

Sherlock knelt down in front of Isabel. "We all have to do things we don't want to do, Isabel." The detective's tone was firm but kind. "But you haven't even been to school yet. You might even like it. Now, no more crying." He brushed the tears from his daughter's cheeks. Isabel still looked unsure.

"Isabel, If daddy promises to get you a violin of your own for your birthday can you be a big brave girl and go to school?" Molly asked, a bright smile on her face.

Isabel considered this for a moment before nodding. "Okay mummy. Can I have a pink one?"

"I think that can be arranged, darling. What do you think Sherlock?" Molly had to suppress a giggle when she caught Sherlock's shudder of disgust. Much to the detective's dismay, Isabel had decided at the age of two that pink was her favourite colour and demanded that her room be painted as such.

"If that's what my petal wants." Sherlock arranged his features into an approximation of a smile.

* * *

Isabel had eventually come to tolerate school, if not enjoy it. She had not forgotten her parents promise of a new violin and was bursting with excitement by the time her fifth birthday arrived. 221b was covered with streamers and balloons in every shade of pink imaginable. Dominick was attempting to arrange the balloons in as many creatively rude ways as he could manage, that was until a stern "No, Dominick" was heard from Molly's direction.

Isabel was showing Lucy Watson the pink microscope set from her Uncle Mycroft. Mrs Hudson and Mary were arranging party food on the kitchen table.

Sherlock and John were nowhere to be seen, the pair having dashed off in a cab an hour earlier. To anyone on the street, the detective and his blogger might have looked like they were on a case. They were in fact on their way to the other side of London, to a small music shop - the owner of which owed Sherlock a favour.

"This was the one you wanted?" The beady eyed owner of the shop asked Sherlock, opening the violin case on the counter in front of him.

"That's the one." Sherlock nodded, picking up the child's violin for a closer inspection.

"It's very pink..." John stated the obvious.

"Says the man with the lilac laptop." Sherlock smirked.

"Ah, that's not mine, it's Lucy's."

Sherlock placed the violin back in it's case, snapping it shut. "I think this will be more than adequate."

"Wish the little lady a happy birthday for me, Mr Holmes." The beady eyed man called cheerily as Sherlock and John strode out of the shop, violin in hand.

* * *

"Where's daddy?" Isabel asked for the second time since Sherlock had left. She was sitting in her mother's lap, playing with the necklace Molly wore.

"Daddy and Uncle John had something to do, darling. I'm sure they wont be too long. Why don't you go and try on some of the new clothes Auntie Mary brought you?" Molly responded, pressing a kiss to her daughter's temple. "Lucy might even help you, if you ask her nicely."

Molly watched as Isabel hopped down from her lap, running over to the older girl and taking her hand, all but pulling her upstairs.

When Sherlock and John got back to the flat, Isabel practically bounced back downstairs dressed in her Tigger outfit with the pink tiara and wand from her fairy outfit.

"Daddy daddy daddy!" The newly five year old threw herself at her father who scooped her up in his arms, balancing her on his hip.

"Hello, petal. Would you like your present now or after dinner?"

"Now please daddy." Isabel answered with a giggle.

"As you wish, my lady." Sherlock grinned and deposited Isabel on his chair. He laid the violin case across legs and helped her undo the catches and open the case. The little girl's eyes lit up when they fell on her pink violin.

"It's so pretty! Thank you daddy!" Isabel carefully lifted her violin up.

"Happy birthday, Isabel." There was a beaming smile on the detective's face, a smile that was reserved only for his children.

"I'd like to hear what our little virtuoso can do with her new violin." Molly grinned, leaning in to Sherlock's side.

"Yeah, squirt, play something." Dominick encouraged.

Isabel thought for a moment, sliding off of Sherlock's chair and planting her little feet on the floor.

"Okay." Just like her father, Isabel didn't need much encouragement to show off her skills.

The birthday girl launched into a perfect rendition of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, a favourite of hers to play. Her extended family gathered around her, all applauding dutifully when she stopped playing and took a bow.


	12. Royal Visit

**AN** - Hello there dears! I hope you're all well. Bit of a long AN tonight so bear with me. This is an expansion of a head canon I posted on my tumblr last week :) Everyone who reads, follows or reviews this, your support is as always very much appreciated. Extra special thank you's to SammyKatz (it took me so long to decide on Sherlock calling her Petal lol it's the most Sherlock-y pet name I could see him using for her :D ) Gypsy Rose2014 (Not going to lie, I had a not so little fangirl moment when I saw your name on the review. I'm an avid reader of Small Boys and Sandwiches, and Ginger Lollipops. I'm too shy to review but they're wonderful - it was reading those that sowed the seeds for what Family Ties has become.) And the dear Guest reviewer (Anyone who dares to ask teenage Isabel out is asking for trouble lol. I'm hoping to get some teenage Isabel out here at some point soon :D )

* * *

"Dad, I'm booooooored" Isabel whined, sitting down on John's chair with a huff.

When the family had moved into the house that had once been his parent's two years before, Sherlock had insisted that both his and John's chairs be moved from Baker Street with them.

Sherlock looked up from the stack of papers in his hand. "You had the chance to go to the morgue with your mother, petal."

"I don't like the morgue, it's full of dead people." The eight year old stuck her bottom lip out, imitating her father's own pouting face perfectly.

"Why don't you go riding then?" Sherlock suggested, his attention back on the papers he held.

"I can't. You know mum doesn't like me riding Sunshine on my own. Maybe you could take Thunder out too." Isabel shot her father a hopeful look.

Molly had declared that as they were living more or less in the countryside now it would be nice for the children to have horses. The family had since acquired four; Thunder and Lightening - named by Molly - Lucifer who was Dominick's and Isabel's pony, Sunshine.

Isabel's look of hope turned to disappointment when it became clear her father was in work mode. With an overly dramatic sigh the little girl kicked her heels against the bottom of the chair, earning a raised brow from her father.

"Isabel, surely you have homework of some sort to do?" There was a hint of exasperation in the detective's voice as he attempted to stay focused on the case he was working on.

Isabel shrugged her petite shoulders. "I've already done it. It wasn't very interesting."

Sherlock had to bite back a smile; for all that she was like Molly, sometime's it was utterly undeniable that Isabel took after him.

At the very moment when the worlds only consulting detective was ready to admit defeat and entertain his daughter rather than continue working, there was an obnoxiously loud knock at the front door. Isabel was on her feet immediately.

"I'll get it!" The eight year old yelled as she skipped out of the living room. Sherlock rolled his eyes, tossing the pile of papers to the floor and following after his child.

Sherlock made it to the door before Isabel; pulling the door open with one hand and snaking his other arm around his daughter's waist, hoisting her up into the air.

"Dad!" Isabel giggled, her feet dangling in the air. Sherlock's laughter matched that of his little girl. The source of the knocking stood in the doorway, eyes narrowed at detective and daughter.

"Mr. Holmes, your presence is required." The man stated simply.

Sherlock deposited Isabel back on the ground but kept one hand on her small shoulder. Clever eyes quickly looked over the man in front of him; Well dressed, dog hair on highly polished shoes, air of superiority that reminded Sherlock of Mycroft.

"No, terribly busy. Sorry." Sherlock moved to close the door in the man's face, steering a curious Isabel out of the way.

"Mr. Holmes." The man repeated with a note finality. Clearly it was not a request, but an order.

Sherlock considered refusing, but the inevitable furious phone call he would no doubt recieve from his brother was a wholly unattractive prospect. "Isabel, find your shoes and coat please, we're going out."

"Where are we going?" The youngest Hooper-Holmes asked, retrieving her favourite shoes from their place in the hallway.

"Buckingham Palace." Sherlock responded, helping Isabel into her coat and making sure it was buttoned correctly before shrugging into his own familiar Belstaff.

* * *

The 30 minute drive to the Palace passed quickly and relatively quietly. Isabel spent most of the drive firing questions at their escort.

"What does the Queen have for breakfast? Does she like toast? I don't like toast."

The subject of the eight year old's interrogation sighed, his patience wearing so thin it might snap. "I have no idea what Her Majesty has for breakfast, Miss Holmes; nor do I know whether or not Her Majesty likes toast."

"It's Miss Hooper-Holmes actually." Isabel replied haughtily, making Sherlock beam with pride. "And you're no use at all, are you?" The little girl turned her attention to looking out of the car window.

* * *

Sherlock and Isabel walked hand and hand down a corridor. Isabel's wide eyes took in everything around her, from the ornate panelling on the walls to the furniture that looked to the little girl like it should be in a museum. Sherlock was not surprised in the least to round a corner and find his brother waiting for him.

"Uncle Mykey!" Isabel dropped her father's hand and ran to her uncle.

Mycroft looked as uncomfortable as ever while Isabel hugged his legs. "Hello Isabel." The British Government patted his niece's head awkwardly.

"What is it this time, Mycroft? Got another dominatrix you need dealing with?"

The sneer on the elder Holmes brother's face at the mention of the Irene Adler escapade was almost enough to make Sherlock laugh.

Isabel detached herself from her uncle's legs and moved to stand next to her father again, peering around the room.

"Not this time, brother mine. I believe the last one got you in enough trouble, did she not?" Mycroft asked with a smirk, the smile dropping from Sherlock's face.

Isabel looked questioningly from her father to her uncle, hoping one of them would explain what they were talking about. When it became clear that neither of them had any intention of doing so, Isabel sighed and scuffed her feet over the floor.

"Well, what is it then? I have work to do." Sherlock was becoming more impatient by the second.

Mycroft rolled his eyes, his idea of constituted work being very different from that of his brother. "Someone of the highest importance would like to thank you for your handle of that case last month." He couldn't quite hide the note of disgust in his voice that Sherlock should be getting thanked for something he did only to hold off boredom.

"Wait, which case?" Sherlock looked confused for a moment before realisation dawned on him. "Oh...that case."

"What case dad? did Uncle John put it on the blog?" Isabel asked. She'd been an avid reader of John's blog since Molly had deemed that she was old enough to read it.

"I believe your Uncle John called it the Case of The Pampered Poodle." Sherlock answered his daughter with a roll of his eyes.

Isabel giggled. "There's a picture of you with the dog on Uncle John's blog dad."

"Getting back to the matter at hand, if you don't mind." Mycroft announced pompously. "You are to be on your best behaviour. Both of you."

Detective and daughter exchanged conspiratorial grins. There was a flurry of activity, another well dressed gentleman approaching Mycroft and muttering something to him.

Mycroft shot his brother and niece a stern look. "Best. Behaviour." He hissed.

Sherlock moved Isabel to stand in front of him, both hands on her shoulders to keep her in place; Isabel had inherited her father's nervous energy, often making it impossible to get her to stand still for more than a minute.

Another rush of activity and the Queen stood before them, a corgi at her feet. Sherlock for once heeded his brother's request, he was polite and managed to refrain from showing off for all of 3 minutes. Isabel on the other hand, was not inclined to follow her uncle's orders.

"Do you like toast? I don't like your hat very much. What's your dog called?" Isabel asked with the sort of directness that only a child, or a consulting detective can get away with.

The atmosphere in the room changed in a very pronounced way as every adult within earshot held their breath. Mycroft's eyes flickered first to Isabel and then to her father.

The Queen was the only one who seemed unperturbed by the girl's questions, smiling down at her in a very grandmotherly way. "I do enjoy toast, very much; The dog's name is Monty..." Her Majesty leaned every so slightly closer to Isabel and, in a loud whisper continued "...and I'm not particularly fond of this hat either."

The adults around Isabel visibly relaxed, with the exception of Mycroft. Further pleasantries were exchanged before the Royal party moved on to their other business and the Holmes were escorted to their waiting cars.

"I had been under the impression that you took more after your mother than your father, Isabel; clearly I was mistaken." Mycroft addressed his niece before sliding into the back seat of his car, the ever present Anthea waiting for him.

* * *

Two weeks after the visit to the Palace and Isabel had barely stopped talking about it. Sherlock was out running around London after a particularly clever back robber with John while Molly was spending a quiet Saturday at home with the children. Isabel was following Dominick around the house, describing in minute detail - and for what must be the 50th time - the interior of Buckingham Palace.

"I know Bel! You've already told me how red the carpet was!" Dominick finally snapped at his little sister. "Mum, Bel's going on again!"

"Isabel, come on darling and leave your brother be for a bit. You haven't told me how red the carpet was yet." Molly was well versed in the art of playing peacemaker between her children. Isabel stopped into the living room, throwing herself onto her father's chair with a loud huff.

"Dominick's so mean to me mum."

Molly settled herself on the arm of Sherlock's chair, brushing Isabel's hair away from her face. "Never mind darling. We can take Sunshine and Lightening out in a little while, if you want?"

Isabel shrugged in response, reminding Molly very much of Sherlock when he was in a sulk.

There was a sharp tapping at the front door, followed by the sound of the door opening.

"Anyone at home?" Mycroft called out.

"Anyone, is in the living room, Mycroft." Molly responded with a giggle. Molly had discovered early in her marriage to Sherlock that she was actually rather fond of her brother in law. She supposed she probably wouldn't be if she'd had to grow up with him of course.

Mycroft round the corner into the living room, a large box balanced precariously in his arms.

"Ah, Isabel's here too; good." He placed the box down on the floor at Isabel's feet. It was covered with air holes and was emitting a very un-box like noise.

"What's that?" The little girl asked, curiosity winning out over her sullen mood. She looked at her mother for answers but Molly could only shrug and look to Mycroft.

"I believe this note will explain." Mycroft handed his niece a piece of very expensive looking paper.

Isabel unfolded the note and squinted at it. While she was an avid reader, Isabel still had a little trouble reading handwriting. "Mum, I need help."

Molly looked over her daughter's shoulder and read the note aloud.

_"Miss Isabel Hooper-Holmes,_

_I trust that you'll find my choice of pups more to your liking than my hats._

_Elizabeth."_

Molly was beaming by the time she'd read out the entirety of the note. "I think you'd better open that box, darling."

Molly and Mycroft watched as Isabel hopped down from her father's chair and knelt on the floor next to the box. Lifting one corner of the lid Isabel giggled when a little wet nose peeked out. Removing the lid entirely Isabel was greeted with a corgi puppy, almost identical to Monty.

Molly grabbed her phone and snapped a picture of Isabel lifting the puppy out of the box. She sent the picture to Sherlock, along with a text.

**We have a new addition to our family. Molsxx**

**What is that? SH**

**A puppy. A royal puppy. Molsxx**

**Have solved the case. Will pick up puppy food on way home. SH**

Mycroft made his excuses and hurried off for the Diogenes club. Molly called Dominick down to see the puppy while Isabel was already falling head over heels in love with the little thing.

"Is it a boy or a girl mum?" Dominick asked

Molly scooped the puppy up into her arms and turned the little thing over. "She's a girl." She placed the puppy back on the floor and watched Isabel immediately pick her up for a cuddle. "What are you going to name her, darling?"

Isabel gave it some serious thought for a moment. "I know! Lets call her Ginny." Isabel had been reading the Harry Potter series and had developed an affinity for Ginny Weasley.

Molly giggled and tickled the puppy behind the ears. "Welcome to the family, Ginny."


	13. Goldfish

**AN** - Hello dears. Terribly sorry for the wait for this one but having officially finished college for this year (I'm counting the days until my new course starts in August) I've been running about making sure I'll have something to live off over the summer. As always, love and thank yous to all who've followed or favourited and especially my lovely reviewers (you know who you all are) it's all very much appreciated. This little something comes from another one of my tumblr head canons.

* * *

Dominick Hooper-Holmes trotted along at his father's side, as fast as his five year old legs could carry him.

"Dad?"

"Hmm?" Sherlock responded vaguely, leading his son along the corridor that led to Lestrade's office.

"Why can't I have a dog? Mum said you had a dog when you were my age." The little boy looked up at his father, letting go of the consulting detective's hand.

"We already have Toby." Sherlock said, breezing into Lestrade's office only to find that the DI was nowhere to be seen.

"But Toby's a cat. And he's mum's anyway." Not for the first time in his young life, Dominick made himself at home in Lestrade's chair.

Sherlock pulled his phone from the pocket of his Belstaff and fired off a text to Lestrade.

**I'm in your office. Put down whatever sugar coated thing you're eating and do some work. SH**

**Actually, bring the sugar coated thing with you. Dominick's here. SH**

Texts sent, Sherlock pocketed his phone and turned his attention back to his child.

"There's is barely enough room at Baker Street for it's human residents without adding a dog. Unless you'd like to suggest to your mother that Toby be made homeless to accommodate one?" Sherlock arched a brow.

Dominick considered his father's words. Did he really want a dog enough to make his mother's beloved cat join the homeless network? His little face fell ever so slightly. "No dad." He stuck his bottom lip out and pushed off from Lestrade's desk, making the chair spin around.

"Well there you are then, no dog. And don't spin so fast on that chair, Dominick; I do not want to have to clean vomit off your clothes again." Sherlock shuddered, remembering what had happened the last time the detective and son had visited Mycroft's office.

Dominick heeded his father's warning, instead playing with a pen on the desk. "Dad?"

"Yes, Dominick?" Sherlock was endeavouring not to take his impatience out on the child.

"If I can't have a dog, can I have something else. A hamster like Lucy's? Or a goldfish?"

Sherlock thought it over for a moment or two. While he wasn't over fond of rodent's at least they were small and generally quiet. And a goldfish would be even less of a bother. "Maybe. We'll talk to your mother about it later."

A bright grin broke across Dominick's face, the child hopping down from Lestrade's chair and hurling himself happily at his father. "Thanks dad!"

Sherlock scooped his son up into his arms, if only to make sure he didn't hurt himself or break something.

The office door swung open, Lestrade balancing his coffee in one hand and two very sugary doughnuts in the other. The DI stopped, taking in the sight of detective and son; Sherlock wearing a look that prior to Dominick's birth, Lestrade had only seen on his face when in the thrall of a particularly interesting case.

Handing one of the doughnuts to Dominick who took it eagerly, the DI turned to Sherlock. "Alright, what's so urgent?"

"Hm?" Sherlock was torn between not dropping his son and making sure the child's sticky fingers didn't ruin his precious Belstaff. It took a moment for him to remember why he was in Lestrade's office in the first place. "Oh. I've solved the Quinn case for you. The wife's sister."

Lestrade rolled his eyes, sighing heavily. "Sherlock, that case was solved 3 days ago. It was his wife."

"Nope." Sherlock stated, popping the p and setting his son back down on his feet. "Talk to the sister. You'll probably find she has a white cat, most likely a Persian but I can't be sure. Afternoon." With that Sherlock strode out of the office, Dominick waving goodbye as he followed along beside his father.

* * *

"Dominick wants a dog." Sherlock announced while he lounged across the sofa, his head resting in Molly's lap while she absent mindedly ran her fingers through his wild curls.

Molly tore her eyes away from the TV to look down at her husband, a small smile on her face. "Just like his dad." Molly giggled. "I don't suppose Toby's much of a substitute for a dog." The pathologists gaze shifted to the ball of fur who was currently curled up asleep in Sherlock's chair.

"No. Even Mycroft couldn't mistake that collection of noise and claws for a dog." Sherlock grinned.

Molly rolled her eyes, knowing full well that Sherlock was much fonder of Toby than he'd ever let on. "What did you say to Dominick?"

"That we didn't have room for a dog. I don't think he wants a dog so much as he just wants a pet that's his."

Molly couldn't help frowning slightly. "Well, Toby's his."

"Oh no..." Sherlock laughed "our son is of the opinion that Toby most definitely yours. Anyway, I told him the flat is far too small for a dog."

"I suppose so. I think a pet would be a good idea for him though. What about a guinea pig or hamster? They don't take up much room."

Sherlock's nose wrinkled in a way Molly found extremely endearing. "Rodents." Was all he said.

Molly giggled and tousled his hair. "Well a goldfish then."

"That was one of the suggestions I made to him, pending your approval."

Molly shrugged her petite shoulders, smiling softly down at Sherlock. "I don't have a problem with goldfish. Or rodents for that matter."

"A goldfish it is then."

* * *

Dominick was positively buzzing with excitement when Molly came home from the pet shop. A goldfish bowl and the few bits and pieces that went with it had been set up in the little boy's room the day before. All that was needed to complete the picture was the goldfish itself.

"Mum! Mum! Can I see it?" Dominick danced around his Molly's legs, making her laugh.

"In a minute darling." Molly brushed her son's unruly curls away from his beaming face. "Come on and we'll get him settled in upstairs." Mother and son ran upstairs, Sherlock following after them.

Molly took the little clear plastic bag containing Dominick's goldfish and placed it into the water that was already in the fish bowl.

"Now, darling, remember you're not to let your fish out of it's bag yet."

"Why?"

"Because the temperature of the water in the bowl is different from that of the water in the bag. Putting the fish straight into the bowl water without letting it acclimate to the temperature first could kill the fish. Sherlock stated, matter-of-factly.

"Oh. Okay." Dominick responded, happily watching his fish swim around inside it's bag.

"What are going to name, darling?" Molly asked.

"I don't know..." Dominick looked thoughtfully at his fish, trying to deduce what it's name should be.

"Why don't you name it after your Uncle Mycroft?" Sherlock suggested with a grin. The consulting detective remembering a conversation he'd once had with his older brother.

"Hello Mycroft." Dominick giggled, tapping on the side of the bowl.

* * *

"Dear me, brother mine. You haven't left the Government in charge of the country have you? Must be rather like leaving the inmates in charge of the asylum." Sherlock grinned. The list of things that made Sherlock happier than antagonising his brother was a very short list.

Mycroft heaved a long suffering sigh. "I was under the impression that you called me over here for a reason, little brother?"

"I did, as it happens. Your nephew has something he's very excited to show you. He's up in his room." Sherlock gestured towards the door.

Mycroft shot his brother a glare but headed up to his nephew's room all the same. Though Mycroft Holmes would never admit it to another living soul, he doted on Dominick.

"Uncle Mycroft!" Dominick hurled himself at his uncle's legs.

Mycroft somewhat awkwardly patted the top of his nephew's head. "Hello Dominick. Your father said you had something to show me?" Mycroft actually managed to smile down at the boy.

Dominick crossed the room happily, pointing to the goldfish bowl in the corner. "Look Uncle Mycroft! Mum and Dad got me a goldfish!"

Mycroft stepped further into the room. "Very nice Dominick. What's his name?"

Dominick giggled, bouncing on his little feet. "His name's Mycroft too, just like you Uncle Mycroft!"

"I..well..he's very nice, Dominick."

Mycroft left the little boy chattering away happily to his fish and made his way back downstairs.

"A word, little brother." Mycroft's glare was murderous.

Sherlock, on the other hand, was grinning like the Cheshire cat.


	14. Date

**AN** - Hello there dears. Sorry for the wait but my Arrow fic bunnies have been borrowing my inspiration at the moment. This little something was inspired by a lovely guest review one of you dears left me a couple of weeks ago, mentioning something about the problems teenage Isabel would face when she started dating. Writing Sherlock dealing with this was an awful lot of fun. Just an fyi here before you dive into the story: Isabel is bisexual. Teenage/adult Isabel may end up dating either men or women. If that is not your sort of thing, I completely understand. There will not be a lot of adult Isabel or Dominick though, as i'd prefer to focus more on their childhoods. Thanks as always for all your reviews, every word means an awful lot to me :)

* * *

"Isabel! Will you turn that noise down!?" Sherlock yelled in the direction of his 16 year old daughter's bedroom.

"Oh leave her be, love. It's not that loud." Molly scolded him softly as she passed on her way to walk Ginny.

"Molly, it is impossible to get any work done with that racket blaring away." Sherlock grumbled. "Why must the teenage brain loose any sense of consideration for others?"

Molly snorted. "You're a fine one to talk about consideration for others, Sherlock. Need I remind you that while I was in labour with Isabel you wanted me to nip to Barts and pick up some eyeballs and a liver?" Molly smiled and stretched up on her tip toes, pressing a kiss to her husband's cheek. "I wont be long. And if her date gets here before I'm back please be nice. That goes for you as well, Dominick." Molly glanced towards her son, who at twenty four had grown to be the very image of Sherlock when Molly had first met him.

"It's not me that wants to deduce everyone Isabel goes out with, Mum." Dominick responded with a grin. Sherlock looked mildly offended at his son's betrayal.

"Just be nice, both of you." Molly blew them both kisses before she disappeared out the door with Ginny.

The song changed upstairs and Sherlock rolled his eyes, an exasperated sigh escaping his lips. "Your mother promised me, before you and your sister were born that having children would not be a hindrance to my work. I'm beginning to suspect that your mother is a better liar than I've given her credit for." Sherlock looked to his son, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth in spite of himself. "I suppose you are a hindrance that is sometimes worth it."

Dominick grinned at his father. "Aw, we love you too, dad."

The fact that Sherlock loved and adored his children was never in any doubt. But neither was the fact that he spent a large amount of his waking hours being a bad tempered arse.

"Tea? While we wait for your sister's date to get here?" Sherlock all but sneered as he said date.

"Dad, you'll have to give one of them a chance eventually. Bel is not a Disney princess, you can't lock her up in her room forever." Dominick laughed as he followed his father into the kitchen.

"Of course I can't lock her in her room; your mother would never allow it." Sherlock responded, laughing with his son. "That does not, however, mean that I have to give any of them any sort of chance whatsoever."

"Come on dad, Bel's not a baby any more. Neither of us are." Dominick sat down at the kitchen table, Sherlock taking his place opposite him.

"Your mother said the same to me the first time you brought a girl home. And look at the disaster your love life has been since then."

Dominick shrugged his shoulders. He couldn't exactly argue with his father on that point; he was, as his Uncle John was fond of calling it 'playing the field.' "You just don't want to admit that you're getting old." The young pathologist in training levelled his father with a look so much like one of Sherlock's own.

Sherlock scoffed. "I am not getting old, Dominick. Older, yes. But not old. And my ageing has no baring on the matter of your baby sister being in a relationship."

Dominick let out a loud, booming laugh, shaking his head. "Dad, she's going out on one date. She's not picking out wedding dresses just yet."

"But that's how it starts, isn't it?"

Dominick sipped his tea, fighting to control his laughter.

There was a yell from upstairs. "Dad! What have you done with my phone?! And don't pretend you don't have it because I'll tell Mum!"

Sherlock sighed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out Isabel's phone just as his daughter bounced downstairs and into the kitchen.

"Dad! I've missed three texts! I'm so telling Mum." Isabel all but snatched her phone from her father's hand, turning on her heel and running back upstairs. The sound of her bedroom door slamming was almost enough to shake the walls of the house.

"You're in so much trouble later." Dominick said, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

Sherlock shrugged, looking completely unrepentant. "It was worth a try."

A loud knock at the door drew father and son's attention. Dominick was on his feet and running for the door before Sherlock could even get up from his chair.

"I'll get it dad, don't want you breaking a hip or something running to the door." The younger Holmes called over his shoulder.

Sherlock muttered something under his breath about wishing Dominick had been sent to live with Mycroft in his younger years, and followed his son to the door.

Dominick opened the door to reveal a girl who appeared to be about Isabel's age. Sherlock vaguely recognised her face from the few time's he'd collected Isabel from school before she'd declared she was old enough not to need an escort home and "You're so embarrassing dad!"

"Isabel!" Sherlock called upstairs, he was met only by the sudden silence of the music stopping.

Dominick ushered their guest inside to wait for Isabel. Sherlock's eyes narrowed, his face taking on the look his family described as his 'deduction face.'

The girl was pretty, he supposed, straight blonde hair; a little too much make up but the detective put that down to whatever the current fashion for such things was. Two brothers, one older, one younger. One cat. Overdue homework. Secret packet of cigarettes not very well hidden in her pocket. Nervous.

The girl fidgeted somewhat under Sherlock's gaze. Isabel bounded down the stairs, immediately making herself a human barrier of sorts between her father and her date. Dominick leaned against the wall, an amused look on his face.

"Hi! Sorry, I couldn't get my hair right." Isabel giggled, a slight blush colouring her cheeks.

"Oh, that's okay." The blonde girl answered shyly, giggling too.

"Ahem." Sherlock cleared his throat impatiently.

"Oh!" Isabel grinned. "Dad, Dominick. This is Alex." She gestured to her date for the evening. "Alex, this is my dad, Sherlock." She leaned close to Alex. "Don't mind him, he can be a bit weird sometimes but he's harmless." She said it in a mock stage whisper. "And this idiot is my brother, Dominick."

Alex waved awkwardly.

Isabel grabbed her coat from the hook by the door, shrugging into it before timidly taking Alex's hand. "We should get going or we'll miss the start of the film."

"Isabel, do you have your phone?"

"Yes dad." Isabel answered, eagerly pulling the door open.

"You're to be home before eleven." Sherlock stated while cataloguing everything he'd deduced in his mind palace for closer inspection later.

"I know dad." Isabel rolled her eyes, stepping outside into the crisp spring night and pulling Alex with her.

"Make sure you look after my baby sister now." Dominick grinned.

"Shut up, Dominick!" Isabel hissed before pulling the door closed.

The moment his daughter and her date were out of sight, Sherlock had his phone to his ear.

"Brother mine...yes, they just left...you are watching, aren't you?...I want updates every five minutes Mycroft...I mean it...And find out everything you can about that Alex girl...yes everything...I don't care...your neice's safety is more important than the British Government...good bye Mycroft."

With phone still in hand, Sherlock stalked into the kitchen and began pacing the floor.

"Were you this bad with me?" Dominick asked, stopping to lean in the kitchen doorway.

"Hm? Oh. Of course I was. What? Why are you laughing?"

Dominick just shook his head, unable to get a word out between giggles.

They heard the door open again, followed by Ginny barking as she trotted into the kitchen with Molly not far behind.

"I haven't missed Bel's date, have I?" Molly looked from her husband to her son.

"I'll let dad fill you in. Or I'm sure Uncle Mycroft could. Best not mention Bel's phone though, eh dad?" Dominick sauntered off into the living room, leaving his parents alone.

Molly's eyes narrowed. "Sherlock, you haven't got Mycroft spying on them have you? And what about Isabel's phone?"

Sherlock had the good grace to look sheepish. "Ah, I can't explain that..."


End file.
